


hard work and hypocrisy

by Tauria



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Donald Duck and Scrooge McDuck Reconcile, Family, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Gen, Post-Episode: S01E22 The Last Crash of the Sunchaser, Pre-Episode: S02E11 Nothing Can Stop Della Duck, in this house we love and appreciate donald duck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-27 00:48:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20751572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tauria/pseuds/Tauria
Summary: louie is tired of scrooge's hypocrisy, so he calls him out on it. scrooge realizes he's more like his father than he ever intended to be and donald isn't quite sure what to make of all this, but... he's not complaining too much.





	hard work and hypocrisy

**Author's Note:**

> i am not at all confident about donald's section but the rest of it i'm pretty proud of!! i hope u guys enjoy! (and pls let me know if anything feels too out of character!! i'm still getting a feel for writing these ducks!)
> 
> (also it feels really weird to be active in a fandom again??? but yknow. good weird. v v good weird.)

“And it means nothin’ if ye don’t earn it through _hard work_,” Scrooge said, for arguably the millionth time.

Louie rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm, “you _really _value hard work alright.” He crossed his arms.

“And what’s _that_ supposed t’ mean?” Scrooge narrowed his gaze, leaning forward on his cane.

“You _say _you appreciate hard work, but then you go and treat the hardest worker I know like crap!” Louie accused, jabbing a finger in his great-uncle’s direction.

Scrooge blinked. “_What_? I do _not_!”

Louie rolled his eyes again. “Yeah? You sure about that, Uncle Scrooge? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure just this morning you were yelling at him for taking too long in the bathroom.” Because he wanted a nice hot bath after working third shift at whatever factory he’d found a job with this time. Wouldn’t be long before something happened to the equipment and Uncle Donald was fired again, but that didn’t matter now. What mattered now was he’d had a long night of work and wanted to relax, only to have his uncle pounding on the door and yelling child-appropriate Scottish curses at him.

Scrooge blinked again. “Er… I…”

“Exactly,” Louie said, vicious. “Uncle Donald works harder than any other duck I know. No matter what life throws at him, no matter how bad things get, he _never _gives up.”

He worked his tail off to keep their little boat afloat. Working any job that would take him—factories, retail, fast food, waiting tables, odd jobs around the dock, freelance handyman… the list went on. And when he was fired—because it was a ‘when’ not an ‘if’—the first thing he did was browse the classifieds for a new job. (And get out that old notebook, budgeting what little funds they had as tightly as he could.)

And if he wasn’t working, he was repairing something on the houseboat; or helping them with their homework; or cooking dinner; or picking up after them (though they had started doing that themselves as soon as they were old enough); or tucking them in; or going to the grocery store; or running errands; or repairing the car; or… anything.

Uncle Donald was constantly exhausted. He ran on coffee and stubbornness… and he never, ever gave up. He could have passed them off to several different relatives—including Scrooge himself—but he didn’t. He could have handed them over to foster care, but he didn’t. He could have washed his hands of them ages ago, but he _didn’t_.

(_“Ducks don’t back down_,” Uncle Donald’s voice said in his head. There was a reason it was more inspiring when he said it, instead of Dewey.)

In all that time, he never asked for a dime. Not from Gladstone. Not from Fethry. And certainly not from Scrooge.

Even now, when he should have been able to live comfortably, Uncle Donald _still _worked. While they were off having amazing, death-defying adventures, Uncle Donald was at home. Working. Always, always working.

And neither Beakly nor Scrooge seemed to appreciate that at _all_.

“Lad, I…”

“Save it,” Louie said, shaking his head. He shoved his hands back into his pockets. “I’m going to my room.”

Or maybe he’d go see what Uncle Donald was up to. He kind of wanted a hug.

“Louie?” Donald glanced up at the youngest triplet, immediately dropping his wrench in favor of checking on the boy. “Are you alright?”

Louie scuffed the deck with his foot. “No.”

Donald opened his arms. Louie went, burying his face in Donald’s chest like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Louie shook his head, and Donald didn’t press. Just held him tight and rested his bill on Louie’s crown.

“I just don’t understand,” Louie said, voice muffled by Donald’s chest. “How come Uncle Scrooge treats you so… so…” He tightened his fists around Donald’s sailor uniform.

Donald smoothed his hand down the back of Louie’s head, and let out a sigh. He wondered the same thing all the time. He didn’t have an answer—would never have an answer, unless Scrooge gave him one himself. “I don’t know,” he said, because honesty was _usually _the best policy. “It’s always been like that.”

Louie sniffed. “Even before mom left?”

Donald hummed. “Scrooge is… tough,” he said, instead of answering. He doubted he could get it by him—all four of his kids were too observant for their own good—but with any luck, he wouldn’t press too hard. “Don’t you worry about how he treats me, alright? I’m a grown duck. I can handle it.”

“You shouldn’t have to, though!” Louie tilted his head back, looking up at him with glossy eyes and tearstained cheeks. “You work harder than anybody I know. He _says _he values hard work, but then he… he…”

Donald wiped away a tear with his thumb. “I know,” he said softly. “I know. Uncle Scrooge… Uncle Scrooge and I have always clashed. Even before your mom left. We disagree about a lot of things. And he can be hard on me. But, at the end of the day, we love each other. Just as much as we love you kids. So don’t worry about it too much, okay?”

The look on Louie’s face said that his explanation wasn’t good enough, but he didn’t argue with him anymore. Instead, he just buried his face back in Donald’s chest. Donald swallowed back a sigh. He was going to have to have to keep a close eye on Louie—no, on all the kids—over the next few days.

When Scrooge made his way down to the houseboat, it was near dusk. He had no excuse for why it had taken him so long—except for the fact that Louie’s words had sent him ruminating.

Scrooge was proud of his nephew. Immensely proud. For never giving up. For taking such good care of his sister’s boys. For making it on his own, no matter how tough things got. For never letting things like his speech impediment, or his temper, or his own infernal bad luck get in the way of living his life. But, in hindsight, perhaps he hadn’t expressed that quite as well as he meant to.

In fact, he was coming to see, he had behaved a lot more like his father had towards him. Perhaps his visit to the old mansion should have been enough to open his eyes, but it hadn’t been. And it took being yelled at by a child to make him see that.

_From the mouths of babes_, indeed.

Scrooge stood in front of the door. He hesitated. Steeled himself. And then rapped on the door. A few moments passed, and then, it slowly swung open. Donald was still in his sailor’s uniform, though the hat had been discarded. His eyes widened to see Scrooge at his door.

“Donald, I—”

Donald silenced him by holding a finger to his beak. He stepped aside, and gestured behind him.

Louie, curled up on a raggedy old couch, wrapped in a multicolored quilt.

“I was just about to take him to bed,” Donald said softly. “Do you mind waiting for a bit?”

His tone said that Scrooge didn’t really have a choice in the matter, but Scrooge nodded anyway, if only to pretend he did.

Donald waved him in, shutting the door softly behind him. He walked over to the couch, scooping Louie into his arms with one smooth, practiced motion. He disappeared down a hall, and Scrooge stood in the living room, fiddling with his sleeves.

Pictures of Donald and the boys filled the walls. Donald with the eggs. Donald with still yellow-feathered hatchlings. Donald holding out his arms to embrace Dewey after he took his first steps. Donald napping on the couch, three ducklings on his chest. Donald with Huey in a football uniform. Donald pushing three boys in a stroller. Donald balancing Louie on his hip while frowning at a list in his hand. Gladstone and Fethry* made appearances too.

There was a lump in Scrooge’s throat.

This wall was a monument to all the years he had missed—letting hurt feelings get in the way of reaching out to his nephew. Of getting to know his great-nephews.

“Scrooge?”

Scrooge jumped, tightening his grip on his cane. He immediately relaxed, though, and turned around with a smile. He doubted Donald had missed his startled response, but his nephew was kind enough to ignore it.

“I wanted t’ talk to ye,” he said, balancing on his cane. It was a practiced movement, albeit one he didn’t really need. At least not most days.

“I gathered that much,” Donald said wryly. He sat in a beat-up recliner and waved a hand. “Have a seat?”

Scrooge sat, settling down into the cushions. Though worn, they were still comfortable and plush. “I suppose the lad might’ve mentioned we had a… bit of a row, earlier today.”

Donald nodded. “Something like that.”

“It, ah. It made me realize some things. I… have nae always been fair to ye, laddie. I’m sorry it’s taken me this long t’ see it.”

Donald’s brows were furrowed, and Scrooge fought off the urge to wince. Curse his kilts, but why was this so hard?

“I know I have nae always shown it, but… I am proud of ye, lad. All those times I was harsh on ye… It was only because I wanted t’ make sure ye could stand on your own two feet.” He rubbed the top of his cane. “But that’s not what ye needed from me, was it, laddie?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry it took me so long t’ see it.”

Scrooge glanced at his nephew, and found soft eyes looking back at him.

“It’s hard to step into a parent’s shoes,” Donald said, glancing over at the wall of photos. “You make mistakes. I was angry at you a lot when I was younger. A _lot_.” He chuckled a bit, and Scrooge couldn’t help but do so as well—because he was. Oh, but they had some of the worst rows between the two of them. (Never quite as bad as when Donald and Della got into an _actual _fight, though—which, thankfully, wasn’t often at all.) “But I always knew you loved me. Loved _us_. Even when I was at my angriest.”

Scrooge met his nephew’s eyes. Did he mean the Spear of Selene? Donald’s face seemed to be telling him yes. It could have been wishful thinking but—

But curse his kilts, he was going to let himself wish.

Scrooge reached out. Donald met him halfway, hands clasped tightly. “Doesn’t mean ye didnae deserve t’ know that I’m proud of ye.”

Donald swallowed. Squeezed his hand.

Scrooge smiled. And if his eyes felt a little watery, well, that was his business. (Not that Donald was looking particularly dry eyed.) “I’m going to say it more often,” he promised. “And where the lads can hear as well. Cannae let them all think I’m a hypocrite.”

Donald snorted at that, a tiny little smile breaking out on his beak. That only made Scrooge smile in turn, and for the first time in a long time, it felt like a weight had lifted off of his chest.

And unbeknownst to his uncles, Louie sat in the hallway, rubbing sleep from his eyes, a contented little smile of his own gracing his beak.

**Author's Note:**

> *I know they didn’t know him in the show, but… let’s just pretend they just don’t remember him from their early years, yeah?
> 
> feel free to come hang out with me on tumblr!! you can find me over at [ladytauria](https://ladytauria.tumblr.com)!


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